The Enemy Walks In
by Evey Edge
Summary: Based off NBC's upcoming drama, The Blacklist. Raymond Reddington, an international criminal topping the FBI's Most Wanted list has turned himself in and is offering to cooperate on the condition that he work only with Elizabeth Keen, a rookie FBI profiler. The first chapter is Elizabeth's POV of the first teaser scene released by NBC. Later chapters postulate on past and future.
1. Reunion

Elizabeth heart was pounding so loudly she was surprised the scores of agents surrounding her couldn't hear it. Then again maybe they could. It would certainly help explain they'd way they been looking at her since she'd been picked up this morning. She could practically hear the cogs turning in their brains. Who was she? Why her? Why now? What was Reddington up to? She won't mind having the answers to some of those questions herself.

They led her into the concrete holding facility, where she could feel even more eyes boring into her. The stares of the agents were surprisingly easy to ignore, once she felt his eyes upon her. Raymond Reddington. She paused a moment at the top of the stairs to observe the reason she'd been greeted by helicopters and a team of FBI agents the second she'd stepped out of her house this morning. He was smaller than she remembered.

Raymond Reddington, the "concierge of crime", wouldn't appear very threatening to a casual observer. The man restrained to the metal appeared thoroughly average. With his immaculately pressed vest, collared shirt, and slacks, he could be a professor, a corporate CEO, or perhaps a stockbroker. Bystanders might wonder what this man had done to warrant a private cell of metal and bulletproof glass, in addition to the dozens of heavily armed guards stationed nearby. The short answer would be, a lot.

Elizabeth descended the staircase, locking eyes with Reddington, and keeping her face carefully blank. Director Cooper had briefed her on the information he was supposedly selling, and she was determined not to blow this opportunity by exposing weakness. Holding Reddington's gaze was more difficult than she'd anticipated. The loud beeping of the cage being hauled away faded in her ears as she examined every nuance of expression on his face.

The barest hint of a smile twitched at the corner of his lips as she deliberately strode forward and sat down across from him. His blue eyes drank her in as though they were the only two human beings in the room. It was as though his shackles and the guards, and the whole of the FBI were beneath his notice and he only saw her. Elizabeth resisted the tug of that all too familiar magnetism. She would not be taken in by him.

"Agent Keen, what a pleasure." Anger bubbled up inside her, a fierce, bitter resentment that had simmered on low for twenty years. How dare he summon her like this? How dare he speak to her? She tapped down on her fury. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

"Well…I'm here." Whatever his game was, she wasn't playing.

"You got rid of your highlights," Reddington paused to chuckle half-heartedly while Elizabeth took in the full implication of his comment. He had been watching her, for at least the past six months, and he had wanted her to know that.

"You look much less Baltimore," he opened his mouth and closed it again, as though he was struggling with want to say next, "Do you get back home much?" This exchange was rapidly becoming too personal. If he kept up this line of questioning it would be a matter minutes before the sharp minds of the FBI deduced the truth she'd been hiding since she applied to the Bureau.

"Tell me about Zumani." If he wanted to help bring a terrorist to justice, that was fine by her, but she would not let this criminal mess with her head. She was a professional. She could handle this.

"I haven't been home in years." If she hadn't known she was dealing with one of the most skilled liars on the face of the Earth, she might have bought the tired and regretful undercurrent in his voice. If he thought she was going to break down sobbing about how much she'd missed over his decades-long absence, he had another think coming.

"Why involve me? I'm nobody. It's my first day. Nothing special about me." He smile grew broader as she completed her speech for the benefit of their many observers. He had definitely heard her message about their…connection not being common knowledge. She had no idea whether or not he'd keep quiet. She'd spent her adult life studying ever piece of information remotely connected to Raymond Reddington and she was no closer to understanding him then she'd been at six.

"Oh, I think you're very special. I'm going to make you famous, Lizzie." One thing Elizabeth did know about Reddington was that he never made a move without thinking it through five steps in advance. He used 'Agent Keen' at the start of their interview, so why the change to 'Lizzie'? Most likely it was a response to her distancing tactic. Was the use of her childhood nickname a means to draw her closer to him, or was it a threat to expose her?

"Within the hour Ranko Zumani is going to abduct the daughter of US General Daniel Reicher." Like flicking a switch the man who'd asked her about her visits home was gone, replaced with the hardened international criminal Elizabeth knew Raymond Reddington to be.

"And I'm supposed to believe you?" Reddington began to laugh as though she'd made a joke.

"No, of course not!" His laugher grew heartier and it was all Elizabeth could do not to stand up, walk over to his chair, and punch him in the nose. She breathed in through her nose, and exhaled slowly, reminding herself that her colleagues, her boss, and her boss' boss were all watching her at this moment.

"I'm a criminal!" Reddington concluded with that smug grin, "But consider Agent Keen, what motive would I have for lying? Why would I send you on a wild goose chase, after I have willing placed myself in your custody? In any case can you afford not to act on the information I've just given you?" He was right. Damn him.

"Well, if that's all…" Elizabeth stood and turned to leave. As she reached the bottom of the stairs Reddington spoke again.

"Good luck…Agent Keen." Elizabeth hesitated for only a moment before ascending the steps. She would not look back.


	2. The Moon

Lizzie woke up to the sound of voices. She pulled back her covers and swung her bare feet over the side of her bed. Silently she tip-toed across the wood floor to her bedroom and twisted the knob. The sounds of the conversation drifted in more clearly through the open doorway.

"-solutions beside this. You can't-" It was her mommy's voice and she sounded mad.

"I can. I have to." Daddy! Lizzie scampered down the hallway to the kitchen. He wasn't supposed to be home for another week! Daddy's trips had been a part her life for as long as she could remember, but this was the first time he'd ever arrived home early.

"Daddy!" Lizzie ran full stop at her father and wrapped her arms around his waist. She was so glad to see him, to feel him there solid, and warm, she almost didn't notice that her father didn't smell right. When she pressed her face into her father like this Lizzie always smelled the special mixture of scents that made up his cologne, but just then all she could make out was the smell of smoke. She looked up at her father at her father accusingly, "You promised Mommy and me, no more cigars!"

Her father choked out a laugh that didn't sound at all like his usual one, "I did. And what do I always say about promises?" Lizzie thought for a moment and then recited the words from memory.

"You don't make promises you can't keep."

"That's right. And I promise I haven't been smoking. You believe me?" Elizabeth nodded fervently. Of course she did, he was her Daddy, and he always told her the truth.

"But why do you smell like smoke?" Daddy glanced over at Mommy before returning his gaze to her.

"When I was on my trip I was in a little bit of an accident. There was a fire." Lizzie heart leapt into her throat. Fire was dangerous; her teacher had said so. She clung to her father even tighter than before. Daddy gently peeled her arms off his legs and squatted down so they were eye to eye.

"It's okay, sweetheart. I'm fine." He brushed a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. The familiar gesture calmed her somewhat.

"Do you promise?" Daddy nodded solemnly.

"I do." He kissed the top of her head, then unexpectedly pulled her in for a hug. Lizzie rested her head on his shoulder.

"Do you promise no more trips?" Daddy's trips had been bad enough when all they meant was that she wouldn't see her father for days, or sometimes weeks, but this was different. Daddy could have been hurt, and he wouldn't have had Mommy or Lizzie to take care of him.

"I'm sorry, but I have to go on one more. My last trip." Mommy made a strange noise behind Lizzie, but as Lizzie turned to look her Daddy picked her up beneath her arms and swung her around in a circle. It was so unexpected, Lizzie couldn't help, giggle in spite of the bad news. After she'd stopped laughing her face grew serious once more.

"When do you have to leave?" Daddy's bright blue eyes, which Mommy said were just like Lizzie's, peered into hers, and for a scary moment Lizzie thought she saw tears welling inside them. She blinked and when she looked again they were gone. Lizzie quickly decided they had never been there in the first place. Daddy never cried.

"Tonight." Her father's answer was enough to bring tears to her own eyes.

"But you just got home! It's not fair!"" The only nice thing about Daddy's trips was that they usually had a few full days together before he had to go back into work again. Daddy had promised to start teaching her how to play chess.

"I know. Lizzie, if it were up to me I'd never ever leave you again." Lizzie stuck out her bottom lip. She hated it when grown-ups said stupid things like that. Daddy was an adult. No made him do anything he didn't want to do.

"Then stay." Mommy once told her that Daddy had a very important job and that she had to learn to share him with the people who needed him. Lizzie knew about sharing, but it wasn't fair that the other people kept skipping her turn.

"I can't. One day you'll understand why I can't. For now I need you to be my brave girl. Can you do that for me?" Lizzie blinked, trying to keep herself from crying. If Daddy needed her to be brave, she would be.

"Yes." Lizzie sniffed and wiped her eyes with her pajama sleeve.

"I want to show you something." Daddy carried Lizzie over to the kitchen window. He pointed out into the night sky, "Do you see the moon out there tonight?" Lizzie looked out, and sure enough the moon was there, big, full, and bright.

"Yes." It was beautiful. She felt so safe looking up at the moon, with her father's arms around her. She wished the moment could last forever.

"Tomorrow morning you'll wake up and you won't see the moon anymore." Lizzie tore her eyes away from the glowing orb to look at her father.

"Where will it go?"

"It will still be up there, in the sky, but you won't be able to see it, because the sun will be shining. When I'm away on my trip, I'll be just like the moon. You won't be able to see me, but I'll be out there somewhere thinking about you." Lizzie looked back at the moon. Gone, but not really gone. It wasn't as good as having Daddy here with her, where she could see him, and hug him, and laugh with him, but it was something.

"You promise this is your last trip?" Daddy nodded and set her down on the kitchen floor.

"I promise." Although his voice sounded normal, there was something strange about the way he was looking at her. He was staring so hard that she imagined he was counting the freckles on her nose.

"And you'll be home soon?" There was a long pause, in which cold terror seized Lizzie's gut. Why wasn't he answering?

"I promise I'll come home as soon as I can. Now go on to bed, you need to get some sleep. You have school tomorrow." Lizzie exhaled with relief. She started toward her bedroom, then glanced back over her shoulder. She was shocked to see her father, who usually stood so straight and proud, with slumped shoulder. He looked so tired and sad that she immediate ran back and hugged him again.

"I love you, Daddy." She felt his hand stroke the back of her head.

"I love you more." He scooped her up in his arms once again and carried her down the hall to her bedroom. Daddy lay Lizzie gently down on the mattress and tucked her covers snuggly around her.

"Stay until I fall asleep?" she pleaded, not really expecting him to, but wanting it all the same. To her surprise her nodded and sank into the rocking chair next to her bed. Lizzie closed her eyes suddenly feeling more tired than she'd ever been in her life. The sound of her father's breathing was more soothing than a thousand lullabies. She was safe. Her father was here.


	3. Promise

Reddington absently swirled his wine glass as he reviewed the events of the past 48 hours. Overall his venture had been a success. Zamani had been dealt with, he'd proven his value to the FBI, and he'd managed to secure adequate accommodations, courtesy of the US government. Though his proposal had not been officially accepted by the top tier of the FBI, he took the fact he'd been returned to the hotel as a promising sign.

Admittedly everything had not gone according to plan. Elizabeth was more of a wild card than he'd anticipated. His neck was still sore from where the doctors had sown up the puncture wound. The physical pain was nothing compared to the shame that accompanied it. It had been years, if not decades, since anyone had taken him by surprise. He had underestimated her.

In his defense nothing he'd learned about Elizabeth from the years of surveillance had suggested she would attempt such a bold and violent strike. Her profile suggested the she was exceptionally bright, indeed more intelligent than her FBI class ranking would indicate. She was well-liked by her peers and her instructors found Elizabeth to be a model student. Elizabeth had toed the line every second of her life until she'd stabbed him in the neck with that pen. The question was, 'Why?'

There had multiple external triggers at play that might explain the change in behavior. Elizabeth had lost the girl, her home had been invaded, and her husband hospitalized. His re-appearance after two and a half decades was another factor to consider. Emotional stress had a way of revealing a person's inner nature. Elizabeth had depths of which both he and the FBI had been completely unaware. Beneath the standardized federal agent exterior lurked a force to be reckoned with. What a pleasure it would be to liberate Elizabeth from the rules and protocols that stifled her true potential.

Reddington smiled, sipped his wine and moved out onto the suite's balcony. He noted and then dismissed the sniper positioned on the rooftop opposite. Apparently the FBI still had their collective panties in a twist from his little field trip this afternoon. The idea that they could contain him was absurd, but the alphabet agencies were notoriously bad at admitting defeat. He raised his eyes to the night sky. He couldn't make out the stars, but the moon shown bright and full. Nights like this always reminded him of the night his life had ended.

In his youth Reddington had possessed fanciful notions of patriotism and honor, much like the ones Elizabeth currently labored under. He served his government faithfully for ten years, right up until they'd tried to kill him. He'd found out later that his superiors had done a deal with the son of a warlord he'd killed on a sanctioned hit. The son offered "critical information" in exchange for the head of the triggerman.

Pure dumb luck had saved Reddington's life. He was leaving the airport in a rental car when he received a call from one of his informants. He'd been so happy to be heading home early he'd nearly ignored the call. If he had or his CI had waited another minute, Reddington would have died a fool, a sacrifice on the alter of his country's 'the greater good'.

Visiting Amanda and Elizabeth that final time had been a risk, but he couldn't bring himself to disappear into the night without a word. He'd soothed his conscience with the knowledge the government had never known about his family. No marriage or birth certificate existed that would tie him to the woman he'd loved or to his child. He'd taken every precaution so that no one knew where he disappeared to between assignments. Reddington had been right to assume his job would bring him dangerous enemies, he just hadn't realized at the time the United States of America would be one of them.

Two hard knocks pulled Reddington from his thoughts. Someone was at the door to his suite, an irritated someone, if he wasn't mistaken. He walked over to the suite's entrance and put his hand on the knob. Reddington paused just long enough to make it apparent he hadn't rushed, and then opened the door. Elizabeth stood before him, her arms down at her sides, and her hands balled into fists.

"Agent Keen, what an unexpected surprise. Please come in." Elizabeth strode past him, into the suite without a word of greeting, leaving Reddington to close the door behind her. Her eyes swept the room, taking in the luxurious accommodations and snorting in disgust.

"I've hidden all the complimentary writing utensils, if that's what you're looking for." He didn't really believe her intentions were homicidal, but humor was an effective tool when diffusing a potentially tense situation. He wanted it made clear to Elizabeth that he wasn't holding a grudge over their altercation.

"Assistant Director Cooper wanted me to deliver the news. The higher-ups approved your deal." She'd didn't face him as she spoke, so he couldn't read her face, but her voice sounded tense. She walked further into the hotel room, leaving him the option of following or being left behind. Was this a psychological move on Elizabeth's part?

"Of course, they're not complete idiots." Elizabeth suddenly stopped in front the lamp that had replaced the one she smashed less than 24 hours ago. A new camera had been mounted to the top. As she turned to face him, Reddington realized she had deliberately obstructed the lens. All anyone watching would be able to see was the back of her head. She pulled a small metal device out of her pocket and placed it on the table. An audio scrambler. She wanted to have a private conversation. Interesting.

"The room IS bugged then?" He'd been operating under the assumption that the suite contained both audio and visual surveillance equipment. It was unpleasant to know his every move was being observed by some dull government drone, but the lack of privacy was a necessary evil. More concerning was the limitations it placed on his ability to connect to the outside world. Information was power, and if the FBI discovered his sources, he'd lose his value and things would get very ugly very quickly. Naturally Reddington had come up with a way around this little obstacle, but that facet of his plan had had a temporary…hiccup. He'd made certain adjustments this afternoon after shaking the Feds and he'd know soon enough whether further alterations were necessary.

Reddington watched as Elizabeth reached inside her jacket. For a split second he thought she might be going for a concealed gun, but thankfully she removed nothing more threatening than a photograph.

"What the hell is this?" Elizabeth hissed, her voice low and angry as she held the photograph up from him to see. He didn't need to examine it closely; after all he was the one who sent it to her.

"It seems to be a photograph of me and your husband." The photograph had been taken over three years ago on a bench in one of DC's many public parks. The image captured Tom siting, enjoying a morning coffee while a few feet away Reddington read a newspaper.

"Don't bullshit me. If this is your way of threatening me-" He choose to interrupt before Elizabeth could reach the end of her sentence.

"I give you my word, little though it may be worth to you, that I am not, nor would I ever, threaten you in any way. I would also take this opportunity to apologize for my thoughtless comments last night and to wish your husband a full and speedy recovery," Reddington's mind performed a quick calculation before continuing, "I understand he has regained consciousness." He had no actual intelligence on the state of Tom Keen's heath, but odds were good that if her husband was still in critical condition she would still be at his bedside. Elizabeth's mouth opened slightly in surprise, confirming what had only a moment before been only an educated guess.

"Who told you that?"

"You just did." Elizabeth pressed her lips together, angry at herself and/or him.

"Pick someone else. There are hundreds of other agents for you to run your mind games on." Elizabeth didn't seem to understand how important she was to his plans.

"You're looking at this all wrong, Lizzie. Think of what an opportunity this is for you." It took years for rookie agents like Elizabeth to get near a task force, let alone one of this importance. He hadn't been lying when he'd told Elizabeth he would make her famous.

"Opportunity?! My husband is in the hospital because of you!" Reddington felt that accusation was unfair. Yes, in small way he was culpable for Tom's beating, but he wasn't the only one.

"No, your husband is in the hospital because of you." Elizabeth's eyes narrowed into slits.

"Excuse me?"

"You chose to join the FBI. You chose to wage war on the most dangerous men on the planet. You knew the risks." Those who pursue a dangerous line of work shouldn't be surprised when danger follows them home.

Reddington thought Elizabeth would explode again, but surprisingly his words had the opposite effect. The balloon of anger inside herself deflated before his eyes and left her looking weary. He suddenly realized she probably hadn't slept since he'd turned himself in.

"Why are you doing this?" The invisible barrier Elizabeth had erected between them vanished and Reddington saw a glimmer of the little girl she'd once been. Memories he'd spent years repressing flooded his mind, and prompted him to answer more honestly than was his custom.

"I made a promise." This wasn't the whole truth, she wasn't ready for that yet, but it was an important truth.

"That promise was way past its expiration date."

"I said as soon as I could." Did she really believe he'd wanted to spend those years away from her? That he wanted to watch her grow from child to woman through the photographs and video recordings? That he'd never had the chance to play any role in shaping the life he'd created?

"Did it ever occur to you that I didn't want you to come back?" That fear had flitted across his mind at least ten times a day in these past months leading up to Elizabeth's graduation from Quantico.

"The thought did cross my mind when you drove a pen into my jugular." Her anger had been…astounding. He would admit to more than a twinge of jealousy toward Tom Keen, whose injuries had whipped Elizabeth into a violent fury.

"I'm not that six-year-old girl anymore. I was over it. I AM over it." Despite Elizabeth's protestations and her recent attack, Reddington knew she was lying.

"No, you're not. You could have done anything with your life. You could have been a doctor, or a lawyer, or a teacher, but you chose to become an FBI profiler, someone whose job is finding people like me." He didn't add that he knew how diligently she'd researched him throughout the years, that at Quantico she'd pour through his dossier at least once a month.

"And putting them in prison for the rest of their lives." Was that was she was telling herself, that she wanted to track him down and arrest him? If it was true, what a disappointment this turn of events must be for her.

"The point is, you were looking for me and here I am." An undefinable expression flickered across her face. She picked up her scrambler and returned it to her pocket.

"The guards will be driving you to the office at 7:30. Be ready to go." Elizabeth began walking toward the door.

"Care to join me on balcony for a glass of wine? There's a full moon tonight." Elizabeth's step faltered on as he said 'full moon'. She did remember. When she looked back over her shoulder her face was hard once more.

"7:30. Sharp." She yanked the door open and marched out before he could respond. Apparently Elizabeth was fond of having the last word. It was something they had in common.

Reddington decided to finish his wine and head to bed. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. Anyone bothering to observe him now would assume he had drifted off. It would have been pleasant to actually succumb to a peacefully slumber, but he couldn't nod off just yet. He focused on the hard object he could feel in the center of his pillow. In a few hours' time he was expecting a very important call.


	4. The Call

Tom glared at the phone in his hand, waiting for the glowing digital numbers to change from 11:59 to 12:00. In that moment he hated the device with every fiber of his being. He knew it wasn't rational, despising an inanimate object, but that didn't stop him from fantasizing about hurling the mobile phone into the far wall of his hospital room, or better still, crushing it with his bare hand. No, satisfying as it might be, it wouldn't solve his real problem. Besides, it would rude to destroy a phone didn't exactly belong to him.

When he'd regained consciousness twelve hours earlier he'd known in less than five minutes that he was going to commit petty larceny. He's awoken from his coma to a room full of flowers, from mixed arrangements, roses and tulips, but he eyes had immediately zoned in on the bouquet of red Kalaunchoe. The card contained a Chinese proverb and had been left unsigned. That didn't matter because he already knew who the flowers were from. Kalaunchoe are the food plant of caterpillars that metamorphoses into RED Pierrot butterflies. Tom had thought he'd seen the last of this flower three years ago. No, that wasn't true, he'd HOPED he'd seen the last of them, but in his heart he'd always known he was living on borrowed time. Speaking of which, the phone's clock now read 12:00. Tom punched the numbers that had been encoded in the proverb. The call was answered on the first ring.

"Hello, Tom." Reddington's voice was congenial as ever. That false note of pleasantry was one of things Tom hated most about his former employer.

"I don't work for you anymore." Tom thought it best to come straight to the point. He had no idea how frequently the night shift nurses made their rounds and he didn't want to be discovered with a stolen cell phone.

"And yet, you did return my call." Of course Tom had responded to Red's message, he wasn't an idiot. Reddington didn't react well to being ignored. The international criminal never lost his temper, that would be unprofessional, but he hadn't gotten to his current position in the criminal underworld by taking 'no' for an answer.

"Yes, because I have a message for you: Stay out of my life." He'd said something similar to Reddington three and half years ago, right after he proposed to Liz. He hadn't been directly contacted by Reddington after that, but a bouquet of Kalaunchoe had been waiting in their honeymoon suite. Reddington had never planned to cut Tom free of their deal, he had just been waiting for right moment to reel him back in.

"YOUR life? I think you mean MY life, the life I gave you with the expectation that I'd receive a return on my investment. Do you have any idea how much time and money it takes to build a legend like yours, an identity that can hold up under the scrutiny of say…an adoption agency? I must say that was quite a gamble on your part, Tom. Elizabeth must really want that child. I'm curious, which is she hoping for, a boy or a girl?"

Tom wasn't surprised the Reddington knew about the adoption, considering he generally trafficked in information far more confidential. When Tom stopped reporting to Reddington, he had undoubtedly assigned another watcher within the hour. Whoever it was, they were good. Tom had only sensed the surveillance half a dozen times over the past three years. As long as watching was all they were doing, Tom tolerated their presence. He assumed whoever had taken his place had been given the same primary objective as he had: Protect Elizabeth. The surveillance was always secondary to the target's survival. Anyone working for Reddington would know the cost of failing him. A part of Tom appreciated knowing the Elizabeth was always safe walking the streets of D.C. Now things were different. The rules of the game had apparently changed when Red turned himself in. It appeared Elizabeth's safety was no longer a priority to Reddington, and that was unacceptable.

"Tomorrow you will go the Assistant Director Cooper and you will ask for a new handler. We both know there are plenty of other rookie agents you can use to accomplish whatever the hell you are trying to accomplish. I'll even help you if you'd like, but you are going to stay away from my wife."

Tom still didn't know what plan Reddington had for Elizabeth, and he wasn't waiting to find out. His wife would not become collateral damage to whatever scheme Reddington had cooked up.

"Am I supposed to be frightened of a man nearly beaten to death in his own home by a man twice his age?"

Tom could have pointed out that Ranko Zamani was hardly your average middle-aged man, but defending himself would just sound weak.

"Don't push me, Red. You know what I'm capable of." It had been less than ten years ago that Tom had been working for an elite black ops branch of the NSA so secret that his original identity had been completely scrubbed from the face of the earth. He'd been an extremely high performing government weapon, right up until they'd ordered him decommissioned.

"What you WERE capable of. You've lost your edge while you were playing house. The only reason I let you stay under this long was that I assumed you'd come to your senses. You don't really want to be Tom Keen for the rest of your life, do you?" Tom seriously considered the question. Permanently becoming Tom Keen had never been part of his original plan.

When Reddington had found him four years ago, he'd offered Tom a deal that seemed almost too good to be true. The international criminal had offered to persuade Tom's former bosses to call off the hunt and provide Tom with a completed new identity. All he'd asked in return was five years watching and protecting a young FBI trainee. Tom hadn't known why Reddington was so fixated on Elizabeth. An FBI agent could obviously be a valuable source of information, but he didn't understand why Red would spent years waiting for this one young woman, when he could, and probably had turned a dozen seasoned only connection Tom had ever been able to dig up was the Liz's undergraduate thesis. She'd majored in Criminology and five pages of her paper were dedicated to Raymond Reddington.

As the weeks passed Tom found himself more and more intrigued by the puzzle his assignment presented. He'd been pleased when, after three months of electronic surveillance, Reddington had requested Tom infiltrate Elizabeth life on a more personal level. Tom's first step had been convincing Liz's neighbor to sublet his apartment. In the end Tom wound up paying twice the normal rent, but it was worth it for the access it allowed him to his target.

Thanks to his prior surveillance, he'd known Elizabeth only did her laundry every third Wednesday, when nearly every piece of clothing she owned was dirty. When the day came Tom sabotaged the two of the building's three washing machines. He had put his half his clothes in the third and waited until he heard Elizabeth's footsteps before starting to add in the rest of his load. Elizabeth had come in with her extremely full basket and cursed under her breath. Tom had turned, pretended to realize her predicament and generously offered her use of the last working machine.

His plan had gone off perfectly. He'd introduced himself, they'd chatted for a few minutes, and just like that Tom had gone from stranger to friendly acquaintance. He'd returned to his apartment moderately pleased with himself, until he'd realized he'd forgotten a small detail. He had planned to pretend to be gay.

As a rule gay men are less threatening to woman than straight men, and Tom had felt it was a simple and quick way to put Elizabeth more at ease. He'd planned to casually mention 'his boyfriend' when the opportunity presented itself, but when the moment came, it completely slipped his mind. He'd dismissed the failure, and resolved to remedy his error upon their next encounter.

Their second meeting took place in a nearby coffee shop. Tom had watched from across the street as Elizabeth entered the building, waited ten minutes and then followed her inside. She'd caught sight of him waiting in line and waved him over. They'd sat together, drinking coffee and talking. He'd made a joke and she laughed. It shouldn't have been anything earth-shattering, he'd made women laugh before, but somehow this was different. When Elizabeth laughed, it was like stepping into a warm house after being out in below zero temperature.

When she finally had to run to class, he'd lingered in the shop. Tom had told himself that Elizabeth's perception of his sexuality didn't really matter. She obviously enjoyed his company and that was the important thing. Looking back, Tom probably should have known where this was headed, but self-deception is a powerful thing.

Three weeks later Elizabeth had asked him out. He could have stopped it even then, just apologized and told her he was gay. It may have been awkward for a few weeks, but she would have gotten over it. Instead he'd said 'Yes'. The casual dating eventually became a relationship, with ultimately led to him waking up in Elizabeth's bed wondering what the hell he was going to do.

Oddly enough it wasn't all the lying that was problem. It should have been, as deceiving Raymond Reddington was notoriously bad for one's health, but it wasn't. No, it was the moments of truth that were killing him. It was arguing over what movie to see on a Saturday night. It was working together to capture a pigeon that flew into the apartment window. It was any Elizabeth teasing him about his unnaturally spikey hair. Those increasingly frequent moments started feeling more real than his meets with Reddington. He knew he couldn't continue to live both lives, so he had chosen. He'd yet to regret that decision.

"Yes, I do."

"If you really feel that way, then I'm afraid this extended sabbatical of yours must come to an end. You will honor the terms of our arrangement or I will expose you. In fact, I've already begun."

Retaliation, three years later than he'd expected it, but it had finally come.

"What did you do?" Tom tried to remain calm. Red couldn't have burned Tom too badly if he wanted to continue to blackmail him.

"Elizabeth is now in possession of a photograph of the two of us sitting on the same park bench. The photo by itself incriminates me far more than it incriminates you, however if others of a more revealing nature were to come to light…well I'd imagine you'd be sleeping on the couch for quite some time." Tom's head was spinning. Reddington had recorded their meetings? For what purpose? It made no sense…unless Tom's defection hadn't been as much of a surprise to Reddington as he had let on. It was something to consider, but not right now.

"I won't betray my wife." Tom didn't care if it cost him everything he had, he wouldn't leave her exposed to Reddington.

"Don't think of it as a betrayal, think of it as safeguarding your life together. Really, Tom, this isn't as difficult a choice as you're making it out to be. All I'm asking is that you protect Elizabeth. As her husband I wouldn't think you'd find that a terrible imposition." Reddington's barb found its mark. When Zamani had attacked him, he'd been completely unprepared. Tom had been helpless as the terrorist threatened his wife. If she'd died, it would have been his fault. That wouldn't happen again. He'd take Reddington up on his offer. He'd protect Elizabeth from anyone would posed a threat…including Reddington.

"Same SOP?" There was a short pause before Red replied; leading Tom to question whether he'd sold his acquiescence with the right amount of exhausted defeat.

"No. When the deal goes through I'll be free in only the broadest interpretation of the word. I'll need a week or two to observe their surveillance and learn its weakness. The timing should coincide perfectly with your recovery. I must say, I'm impressed at how quickly you've come to your senses, especially given our last conversation."

"You've made it very clear that I don't have a choice." Reddington thought he'd gone soft, living the civilian lifestyle? Let him. Nothing was more advantageous than having an enemy who underestimated you.

"There are always choices. I'll be in touch." Reddington terminated the conversation before Tom had a chance to respond. Classic Reddington: having to end the discussion on his terms. It actually reminded Tom a little of Liz. Tom shook his head at his errant thought. He must be more tired than he realized if he was seeing parallels between the woman he loved and the man he wanted dead.

Tom cleared the call history and slid the phone under his bed. With luck it would be discovered tomorrow morning and its owner would assume it had fallen out of her pocket while she was making rounds. He closed his eyes and waited for sleep to claim him.

His last thoughts before he drifted off were of that photograph. How had Reddington known that Tom had gone off script? And if he had known all along, why hadn't he said anything? Why had Reddington let it go on? Why…..?


End file.
